Won't You Be My Neighbor?
by kleineelch
Summary: From the prompt "my country's going through some issues so i'm here in hiding and you're a civilian who lives in the same apartment complex as me." All Mista wants to do is sleep after a long night. Fate and the people going up and down the stairs have other plans.


Hoo boy I have fallen hard and fast for this pairing. The prompt I saw was too perfect, so I present to you an incredibly self indulgent story of love, royalty, and all the other fun things in life.

* * *

A mere three hours after crawling into bed, Guido Mista finds himself upright once again, unhappily shouting "What the _hell_ is going on out there?" from the landing in front of his apartment.

"New tenant moving in today, Guido." The landlady calls up as Mista peers out from his doorframe, eyes blinking against the sunlight streaming in. This explained the stomping of feet going up and down the stairs that drew him from his sleep. He is still rather not happy about it.

"What are they moving in, an entire fucking museum?" He yells back, closing his eyes in attempt to keep out the light.

"Some people don't live as sparsely as you do Guido. And watch your language!"

"It's not like the fucking king is moving in!" Mista uses the door to punctuate the end of the conversation, slamming it closed. He thinks he hears the landlady yell at him some more, but it's too muffled to make anything out. A glance at the clock and he groans. There is no reason for him to be up, but the constant banging of boxes on stairs and footsteps of an astounding amount of people means there is no way for him to sleep anymore.

Making his way to the small kitchenette, Mista grabs his only mug, rinses it with some water, and then puts the kettle on. There isn't much in the way of things to drink (he prefers to go out for his coffee), but there is no way he's putting on a shirt before noon, so the instant granules he has will have to do. At least he sprung for the kind that actually tastes of coffee and not just the color brown. While waiting for the water to boil Mista washes his single plate and digs through the bag of pastries he picked up walking home from work earlier that morning.

As he contemplates one pastry or two (it had been a rough morning) a knock comes at the door. With a groan, Mista crumples the top of the bag in frustration and stomps toward the offending noise. "I know you're the landlady but I pay you money so that I am able to-" He began as he opened the door. "Say whatever the fuck I want because I-I-"

Well. They certainly weren't the landlady.

No, _they_ were a slight young man with hair the color of spun straw, impeccably dressed in a tailored blue suit, and a look of mild confusion on their face. Their perfectly defined, picturesque face.

"You...are not the landlady." Mista lamely finishes. "Fuck."

In the space of a breath the young man goes from looking confused to collected. "My apologies for disturbing you..." He hangs onto the sentence, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Guido Mista."

"Guido Mista." The way the strangers accent purrs out his name makes Mista simultaneously interested in keeping the man talking and hyper aware that he is only wearing a rather ragged pair of pants. "I am, ah, Giogio." He hesitates on his name, not offering a surname, and Mista, who makes a living on noticing the details, is even more intrigued. "I'm the new tenant. I'm sorry for the disruptions this morning. I heard your, ah, thoughts on the matter."

Mista is proud he doesn't flush red, but he does still awkwardly run his hand through his shaggy black hair. "Right, um, sorry you had to hear that. I just work nights so, uh, I don't exactly like missing out on sleep."

"I understand. I've had some late nights myself." Giogio takes a step closer, and Mista resists taking a step back. "Can I make it up to you? Coffee? In my apartment?"

The tone may have suggested at a question, but Mista knows an order when he hears it. Interesting. "Perhaps some other time. I, uh, already have some coffee on and I do want to try and sleep sometime."

"Having coffee doesn't seem like a good way to fall asleep." Giogio mutters to himself before snapping back into cool professionalism. "Of course Guido." Again, the purr of Giogio's voice tempts Mista into saying _fuck it_ and following him back to the apartment. Or pulling him into his. _Fuck_. "I, ah, work from home. Any time you are free, just knock." Mista nods in acknowledgement as Giogio pulls away. "Sleep well Guido."

Mista mutters something inarticulate back before he closes the door, locks it, and then, as quiet as he can, slumps down against it, head in his hands. The whistle of the kettle does nothing to draw him from his position. The only thoughts he has is just how _fucked_ he is, having such a handsome and mysterious new neighbor. Who invited him up for coffee.

And when is it ever _just_ coffee.

*/*/*

Breath in for a count of three. Hold for one. Exhale for three. Pause for one. Repeat. Three times.

Knock.

It's been two days since Giogio introduced himself and invited Mista to his apartment. Two days of Mista thinking through every possible combination of how the relationship with Giogio could progress. Because Mista knows people, and he knows that there is a very low chance that this coffee is going to end with them parting ways and only seeing each other in passing. Less than five percent by his calculation. He's been called arrogant and overconfident in the past, but it never matters when he is always right.

So here he is, shifting from one foot to another as he listens to Giogio's soft footsteps make their way to the door. Mista tugs on his sweater to stretch it out from shrinking in the wash, but it does not give and he wishes, for once, he owned more than three shirts and that the other two weren't dirty from work.

Giogio opens the door and, upon seeing Mista, offers a smile that betrays just how glad he is to see him. "Guido. Finally free for coffee?"

Mista can't help but grin back. "Don't need to sleep any time soon, and you did say to stop by whenever."

"I am a man of my word." Giogio steps back, leaving room for Mista to enter. Looking around, Mista begins to believe that whatever Giogio may be hiding is well outside his scope of understanding. The furnishings are sleek and fancy, paintings on the wall all appear real and, as such, expensive. There is a silver carafe on the oak coffee table with two fine china cups arranged for them. A plate of pastries and fruit is arranged so artfully Mista has to glance around to see if Giogio had been panting it only moments before.

"I hope it's not too much of a museum for you." Giogio says with humor as he brushes by Mista (there's enough room to go around, but there is _contact_ as he moves by) and seats himself regally on the nearest chair.

"If museums served things like this as I walked around, maybe I would go more." Mista takes the chair on Giogio's right, trying to not damage the upholstery. Giogio hums as he pours the coffee into the cups.

"Perhaps you're not going to the right ones then. Cream and sugar?" Giogio raises his eyebrow to punctuate his question.

"Uh, two sugar." Mista watches as Giogio places the two cubes in cup with an air of formality. Two short stirs and he passes the cup over. Silence settles as Giogio pours himself some coffee, adding both sugar and cream before he leans back with his cup, looking at Mista as if he expects him to start the conversation.

Well, best to get the hard question out of the way. "Who are you really Giogio?"

Whatever Giogio thought Mista would say, it wasn't that. He coughs on the coffee he had just taken a sip of, his composure slipping off for a moment. "I-don't-"

"I pay six hundred a month for this apartment because it's, frankly, a terrible place to live. Sure, it's nice in the spring, but the summer and winter? Awful. No one in their right mind would come here. Only desperate people stay. And all this?" Mista gestures around the room. "This is not a desperate person."

"And you're desperate?" Giogio interjects, cool once more, though Mista sees the fear spark in his eyes.

"Changing the focus does not allow you out of the question." Mista's smile is wolfish. "Just who am I talking to, Giogio? If that is really your name."

The silence that falls is tense and Mista watches as the man across from him seems to choose his words carefully. He takes a sip of coffee as he waits for Giogio to start talking. "I'm the crown prince of Morioh."

Well, fuck, that was unexpected too. A little too late Mista realizes his drink is _hot_ and he swallows as quick as he can, but not before burning his tongue. " _What_?"

"Crown Prince Giorno Giovanna Joestar. Heir apparent to the realm of Morioh. The Golden Sun." Giogio, no, _Giorno_ sits up straighter and casts his eyes down to Mista in a perfect look of regal contempt. "That is who I am."

Nothing tells Mista that Giorno is lying, and that in itself is rather unsettling. "Well. Fuck. I mean, shit, I mean-" Oh this wasn't going like he had planned.

Giorno lets out a small huff of air that may have been a laugh. "Not what you expected to hear Guido?"

"I was thinking mafia related or runaway from a wealthy family. Wait, are you running away?"

"Hardly. My fathers sent me away for a time." Giorno takes another sip of his coffee before putting the cup down and reaching for a bunch of grapes on the plate. "Part of learning from other cultures, part of not having another person to argue with about the upcoming ball. Padre thinks I would side with Papa and, really, they're both being petty."

"They sent you away because they are fighting over a goddamn _ball_?" Mista wonders just what he stumbled into if arguing over a dance is enough to send someone away.

"Oh it gets better than that." A sparkle appears in Giorno's eye as he picks up the tray of treats and offers them to Mista. "Stay and listen?"

How can Mista say no to those eyes.

*/*/*

There's a small knock at the door and Mista wonders how he became so popular. It's his second visitor of the morning. Sure, the first one was the landlady complaining about one thing or another, but when he sees so few people _anyone_ is an improvement.

"It's unlocked." He groans out, not getting up from the floor or looking at who it was. Mista has a good guess at it anyway from the footsteps.

"Are...are you okay Guido?" Giorno says as the door clicks shut behind him. The scene can't look that good to an outsider, Mista reasons, as he remains lying in just a pair of shorts on the ground, skin flushed pink, and his breath coming out in heavy pants.

"Exercise." Mista gives by way of explanation, then winces at the continued implication. "To stay in shape." No, not much better. "Gotta keep stamina up." _Fuck_.

"You know, we've been hanging out for the past couple weeks and you still haven't told me what it is you do." Giorno's voice comes from right above him and Mista works to focus on the man through the light flooding his apartment. "Night work is...not exactly common."

The implication of his words are not lost on Mista. "Ah well, you know, it pays well. You get to meet some interesting people. Constantly getting fucked somehow." He is rewarded with the sight of Giorno going bright red at his comment. Mista takes pity on him with a laugh. "No, I'm not a sex worker."

"I, ah, never said you were." Giorno coughs and turns away, sunlight catching his golden hair and creating a halo. Mista raises his eyebrows.

"Is that disappointment I hear? Hoping for some good stories?" He wiggles his eyebrows as Giorno lets out an exasperated noise. The pink still remains in his cheeks.

"You are ridiculous Guido."

"Well, got to have some reason to keep me around." Mista says as he props himself from the ground and grabs for the towel he put somewhere. The article is offered to him by a serious looking Giorno.

"I don't _keep_ you around Guido. I want you around."

"Don't see why you would. I'm not exactly, um, respectable." Mista wipes away his sweat and then finds himself looking directly into Giorno's azure eyes, the later having dropped to a knee to look him in the face.

"You are one of the few people who don't capitulate to me because of my status. You are your own person and so very attractive for it." Giorno is closer than he's ever been to Mista, and, knowingly or not, with every sentence Mista watches him draw closer. "I don't know much about you Guido, but you are so _fascinating_ to be around that I can't….help…"

Mista could kiss Giorno now, he realizes. Just a tilt of his head and a gentle pull and Mista can confirm if Giorno's lips are as perfect as they look.

There is a pounding at the door that repels them away from one another in a blink and Mista swears whoever interrupted them will die. Nothing fancy, just a fast, instant death. "Package for Guido Mista." The interloper calls before the thud of a box drops to the floor and they retreat. Well, at least that delivery will give him something to direct his frustration out on.

Mista turns to see Giorno has made it to his couch and is idly playing with his hat he had shed before his workout. "This is an...absurd design." Giorno says with a frown as he traces the diamonds sewn into the fabric.

"Not all of us are blessed with good fashion sense like you Giorno." Mista figures Giorno does not want to talk about how they almost kissed on the floor just now, so he falls back into humor.

"Someday I will take you shopping and get you a real wardrobe."

"Ah, but with so many clothes what excuse do I have to walk around without a shirt on for you?"

The blush Giorno wears may become permanent if Mista plays his cards right, he thinks with a smile. He stands up and walks to where Giorno sits, plucking the hat from his hands.

"Who knows, Giogio, this hat may be your color." Mista says before pulling it down over Giorno's perfectly styled hair. Well, not any more.

"Guido!" Giorno shrieks as his view is obstructed by the cloth and Mista can't help but give it a little twist to mess the hair up further.

"It looks good on you!" Mista laughs as he steps back, allowing Giorno to pull it off, revealing fly away curls and sparkling eyes.

"I'm going to take this hat and burn it." There is no heat behind the words and Mista couldn't take them seriously anyway with how disheveled Giorno looked for once. A look he could get used to, he thought before pulling back.

"I need a shower. If you want to stay, there's some pastries in the the kitchen. I won't be long."

Mista pauses halfway to the bathroom door before turning around with a wicked smile.

"Or you can join?"

The color Giorno flushes is priceless.

*/*/*

The rain is coming down in sheets, drenching anything that dares to be outside. Mista doesn't mind, though, if anything it's easing the sting of cuts on his arm and helping to wash out some of the blood that was beginning to stain his shirt. He is a little upset about his hat not helping, but it's not as if it was waterproof to begin with. Just something to shift his thoughts to instead of the dull pain he feels.

By the time his fingers are fumbling with the knob to get inside his apartment, Mista wonders if he'll ever be warm again. The odds of there being hot water at this time of day is high and he plans to use it all in an effort to regain feeling in his body. Only after he has closed the door and thrown his hat to the floor with a wet thump does he realize there is someone else in the room.

"No wonder you don't bother to lock your door. Hardly anything worth stealing in here anyway." Giorno is reclining on his couch, legs tucked under him and looking out the window as the rain pounded against it.

"I'm surprised you found anything worth stealing in here at all." Mista relaxes his hand off the handle of his gun in the back of his pants and flicks the safety back on.

Giorno let out a laugh. "Well I should say, only something worth stealing in here part of the time."

Heat rapidly floods through Mistas body as Giorno turns to look at him, eyes almost glowing in the pale light from the window. "Careful, your highness, I don't think even monarchs are protected from the law."

As he mentally punches himself for just how _stupid_ that sounded, Giorno gets up off the couch and makes his way to where Mistra stands, water still pooling around his feet. His hips sway as he walks and Mista takes in all the details he hadn't noticed before. For once Giorno's hair is down, curling gently around his shoulders. The shirt he is wearing is oversized, but still expensive, and, in a thought that causes his mind to short out, Mista wonders what Giorno would look in _his_ clothes.

"Fuck." Mista whispers out. Giorno is close enough to hear and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

"You should kiss me first at least." And Mista doesn't need to be told twice. He raises both hands to place on Giorno's face, tilting his head up so he can place a soft kiss on his lips.

Perhaps unconsciously, Giorno lets out a soft sound of pleasure and Mista responds with a growl and puts more force behind the kiss before pulling back. Giorno opens his eyes and offers him a smirk similar to the one that lead them to this point.

"You call that a kiss?" And before Mista can step up to the challenge Giorno is pulling _his_ face down and kissing him with so much passion Mista is convinced that the world could end and he wouldn't even notice.

Needing to be closer, Mista moves a hand from Giorno's face to the small of his back, pulling their bodies flush and causing the shorter man to let out a rather obscene moan. Mista decides that he wants to see just how many times he can hear that beautiful sound falling from Giorno's lips and focuses all over to find out just where Giorno likes to be touched. It would have been an easy task, had he realized earlier that Giorno had a similar plan and was going after Mista's pleasure with single minded determination. Well, there would be another time to focus on Giorno, and Mista is happy to resign himself to his fate.

By the time the shirts have made their way off and Mista can feel a bruise beginning to form on his collarbone, he realizes just what is about to happen. And he wants it, God does he want it, but- "Giogio."

"Guido." Mista's control almost shatters at the amount of desire that is wrapped into his name.

"Giorno." He tries again, pulling away to look Giorno in his eyes. "Are you sure we should be doing this? I mean, I want to do it. This. You. But, you, you're-"

"A prince?"

"That." Mista agrees in a flat voice, chin dropping to his chest. "I mean, I don't mind being a fling, but I don't want to be the source of scandal months or years down the line."

Giorno snort is a surprise to Mista. "I don't do flings, Guido. And you would hardly create a scandal...Or is this concern because you find my heritage intimidating.

Mista lets out a nervous laugh. "Of-fucking-course your heritage is intimidating! God, how could you think otherwise?" He takes a deep breath to regain his composure. "But, if you don't mind my, uh, lack of status," he leans down and presses a kiss to the star shaped birthmark on the base of Giorno's neck, "then I believe we can work something out. If you'll have me that is."

Giorno's smile is radiant in the dim light. "I want no one else Guido."

*/*/*

Well. It was not exactly how Mista had seen the night going.

As he runs, he counts. Ten bullets in his hat. One knife in his boot. Four (damn it) pursuers remaining. Nine blocks to the apartment. Three wounds. Four (damn it again) weeks to reach the point where Giorno's life was in danger.

Thank God Bruno is trustworthy beyond measure. He first heard about the hit and within an hour Mista was able to dispatch three assassins before the rest caught on to him. Now he is running back home in the hopes that he didn't miscount and that Giorno believes everything.

A few turns, two shots, and one new graze to add to his total, and Mista is taking the stairs up three at a time to the fifth floor and Giorno's door. With no time to be polite, he kicks the door in and casts his eyes around wildly for Giorno. The gun leveled at his head is somewhat of a surprise.

"Start talking." Giorno's voice holds nothing but steel and there is no waver to his hands as Mista moves cautiously, holding the man's icy gaze.

"Men are coming to kill you. Who you are got out."

"And how do you know that?"

Now is not the time for confessions but Mista knows Giorno needs to hear it. "I'm an assassin." The click of a safety being removed is, honestly, the response Mista expected.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Of course I was." Time is slipping away. Time they need to plan and get out of this alive. "Giorno, listen, the threat to your life is real-"

"Thanks to you." It is no question.

"Would I be stupid enough to return if I was the one who told?" Mista glances towards the door and window, calculating how long it would be before shooting began. Hopefully it would not start with him being shot.

"Should I be stupid enough to consider it wasn't you?" Giorno growls out and, if the situation were a little less tense, Mista would have done anything to hear that tone of voice more.

"Maybe we can argue my stupidity after this wraps up. Give me the gun, call your father to get help in here, and stay down." Giorno looks like he will do none of what Mista asks and Mista knows that time is almost out.

Faster than Giorno can react, Mista grabs his wrist, twists enough to break the grip on the gun and pulls him forward for a bruising kiss. "Call. Your. Father. Now." He hisses out and shoves Giorno back towards the bedroom. Not a moment too soon, as Mista hears soft footfalls on the stairs. He curses himself for damaging the door, but it's too late now. Making his way behind the chair he first sat in when they had coffee together, Mista removes his gun, weight comfortable in his hand and breathes in. Three. Hold. Exhale. Stand. Shoot.

His first shot hits the one on the left squarely in the forehead, dropping them in an instant. He ducks as at least two others open fire at his previous position. Bullets embed in the chair and one passes through, dangerously close to his neck. Cursing shoddy craftsmanship, Mista dodges out after a pause in shooting and makes his way toward the small kitchen. The third attacker was waiting for this apparently, shooting as he moves, catching him in the abdomen. Mista hisses in pain and offers return fire, though he is almost certain nothing made contact.

"Give it up Mista!" One has the audacity to call out to him. "The contract is so lucrative you should have taken it up in the first place. Why bother defending a little piss-baby prince?"

Regaining his breath and calming his heart down, Mista offers a "Fuck you!" before peering out and firing off three shots. He hears two make contact and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The return fire to him is getting closer and tighter, wood splintering and covering him in dust.

"Fuck me." Mista mutters as he reloads his gun. Six bullets left and he foolishly didn't get the gun Giorno dropped earlier. Only two left he thinks. A second too long. Another shot tears through his left arm as the two remaining have positioned themselves in a way to corner him in the kitchen.

This is bad.

Mista is able to dodge another shot aimed at his head and unloads three shots at the nearest attacker, catching them in the hand and causing their gun to clatter to the floor. There is no time to think or celebrate as the final assassin closes in on Mista, crushing his hand to the ground, gun pressing up against his hat and digging into his head.

"Where is he?" They hiss and Mista gathers enough energy to let out a laugh.

"Fucking kill me, because I will never tell." He croaks out with a smile. Time seems to slow as Mista watches the assassins finger pull the trigger and he hears the shot as his eyes fall closed. He finds it odd that the gun seems to be pulling back from him and he forces an eye open. The assassin is slumping to the side, a hole through his head that Mista certainly didn't put there himself. That causes both eyes to open and try and focus on the one who saved him.

"Giorno."

Giorno looks down and lowers the gun he is holding with control and poise, seemingly not phased he has just killed a man. Is it too early for Mista to think about how he _loves_ Giorno? Or maybe that's the blood loss talking.

Distantly, Mista hears the sounds of panic echoing through the apartment building and he realizes how bad it's going to look with him bleeding all over the kitchen linoleum. He goes to prop himself up but his vision almost instantaneously goes spotted and fuzzy, causing him to let out a moan of pain. This seems to break the spell Giorno was under and he drops to his knees at Mistas side.

"This is a lot of blood Guido." His voice sounds shaky and that worries Mista. Giorno should never sound so unsure.

"Are you okay Gio?" Words are hard, but Mista has priorities.

"Papa said someone would be here for me in a couple minutes. Guido-"

"Good, you go home." Someone will send him to the hospital. Or another assassin could kill him. In the end, as long as Giorno is safe, Mista really couldn't give a fuck.

"Not without you Guido." The fierceness in Giorno's voice is overwhelming.

"'m not important." Mista feels his body begin to grow cold and he realizes maybe he'll just die here. That is not optimal, but he finds it hard to care about much as the seconds pass. He closes his eyes as he feels his hat being pulled off and soft lips press a kiss to his forehead.

"-portant to me." Is the last thing he hears.

*/*/*

Following the attempt on his life, Giorno was whisked away back to his home country, though not without seeing Mista put up in the nicest hospital in town. It was better than the back alley doctors he was used to (though they asked far less questions), but his release only came after he threatened to get the Prince of Morioh on the phone to release him personally. An empty threat, as he had no real way of getting a hold of Giorno, but royalty carries sway, and Mista was back on the streets only a few days after almost bleeding out.

He snuck into his apartment late that night, noticing his few belongings had been rifled through and, in the case of his dishes, smashed on the floor. Bemoaning the loss of his apartment was easier than thinking of Giorno, so Mista focused on that. Bruno would put him up until he found another place to rent and, after some time, maybe Mista could even get back into the business. Though it might take some time for people to forget he turned against a hit and killed six other people to protect the hit.

Well, they were all bastards anyway.

So time passes and Mista waits. For anything. A job. A call. A visit.

(No, that's too much to hope for)

And three months pass in slow, dull, agony.

He's returning from a trip to the grocery store one morning to his new, even more sparsely decorated apartment when he notices a black car idling a block and a half away from the front. Perfect line of sight to watch people come and go, and Mista gets the itch that he's being watched and expected. He makes no indication of noticing these facts, only catalogues where his weapons are and curses he hasn't stashed one in the hall yet.

Not that he would have had the time to retrieve it. As Mista takes his fourth step down the hall, his apartment door swings open and a very tall man steps out.

"Please come in Mr. Mista." The man rumbles, gesturing inside.

"Of course I'll come in, it's my goddamn apartment." He mutters as he passes. There is a moment where he hopes, _prays_ , that Giorno is the one waiting inside for him, and Mista's hopes are held for a brief second when he sees golden hair, but it's not right. The head is not right either. It is not Giorno.

"Guido Mista." The blond man turns around and offers a smile that makes Mista very aware that he will be killed if he doesn't do what this man wants. "Assassin. Wanted for at least a dozen counts of murder and a few assorted petty crimes. Known for his precision and morals. Will only kill those who abuse others, which in this city, means officials, police officers, and those who think themselves outside the law." His smile is wider. "How quaint."

"Who the hell are you?" Mista has never been afraid of death and if he is going to die here there is really no need to be polite, he reasons.

"You moved into this apartment a month ago after staying with another Associate of yours." The man continues on, eyes staring into Mistas. "You've had a couple jobs, but more to scare than to kill. You have a reputation now."

"If you don't get to the point, the milk I just bought is going to go bad in this heat, you know. _Who are you_?"

The man lets out a chuckle. "My son mentioned your temper." Mista feels his stomach drop. "I am Dio Brando. I'm sure you can figure out just who I am."

"I-I can do that. Yes."

"Good. Giorno also said you weren't stupid. I am glad to see that myself." Dio rolls his shoulders and then straightens back up. "Tell me about your relationship with my son."

Oh, it's one of these conversations. Mista swallows hard. "Well, uh, Sir, we were neighbors."

"Tsch." Dio's eyes narrow. "You apparently think I'm stupid. I know you were neighbors, I know that you two became close, and I know you are the one that saved his life. What I want to know is what your feelings are for Giogio."

"Well I think that's none of your fucking business now is it?" Mista feels his temper rising again and by the look in Dio's eyes, his is too.

"It's my _fucking business_ when my son has withdrawn himself from us and when we can get him to explain why he can only mention missing _you_."

"What?"

"So, because my husband and I love our son more than anything, I am here in this hovel you somehow call home to know your feelings for my son so either he can go about his life without you or _you come back with me_."

" _What_?"

"Is that all you know how to say?" Dio balls his hands into fists and takes a step forward and Mista is smart enough to take a step back. "Because I think I've made myself _very_ clear."

"Giorno is the best person I've ever met." The words spill out of Mista, and once they start he knows they won't stop. "I mean, I don't have many people I trust, but from the first time we sat down together I knew I could trust him. Every time we met after I found myself making excuses to stay longer until it reached the point that I almost missed a mark because Giorno was talking about art to me and I didn't want to stop him. He's handsome and amazing and, fuck, I can't say I love him, but I _want_ to. I _want_ to have the chance to love him."

Dio blinks at him, apparently having not expected the torrent of words. They spend a moment in silence together before Dio sighs. "Jonathan is going to love you and your damn romantic feelings." He waves his hand and the man who invited Mista in reappears from the shadows. "We leave now. He's coming with us."

Mista opens his mouth to argue (though he's not really sure what he would say), and a glare from Dio stops him.

"Tread carefully Guido. My son may care for you greatly, but if you cross _me_ , you will regret it." Dio says before brushing past Mista and out the door. The bodyguard looks at Mista expectantly and he has no choice but to follow, groceries still in hand.

In terms of meeting the parents, Mista thinks it could have gone a lot worse. Especially when they are a king.

*/*/*

"You know, he took your hat. I think he wears it when he sleeps because his hair is always incredibly messy when he comes down for breakfast." The voice from behind Mista makes him jump, and he spins around from the floor to ceiling window he had been previously observing the lavish gardens from. He finds a large man with tousled brown hair and an easy smile standing behind him.

"King Jonathan Joestar?" Mista asks and Jonathan's eyes light up in delight.

"That is me. Obviously you are Guido Mista, the one that has enchanted my son."

Mista can feel his neck going hot as he tries to suppress a blush. "Well, uh, with all due respect, he's pretty great himself."

Apparently this is what Jonathan wants to hear as his smile only gets brighter. "I'm so glad you were able to come back with Dio to surprise Giorno. I'm sure he has no idea. And you look great."

"He might not even recognize me." Mista muttered as he tugs at the cuffs of his shirt. The instant they arrived in the country Dio took him to a tailor and picked out a dozen or so outfits for Mista to wear. There was no protesting from Mista, mostly because he knew it was a fight he would not win.

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. Now," Jonathan claps his hands together and looks positively giddy with excitement, "Giorno's been in meetings all day and the ball is tonight, so he's probably a bit stressed. When would you like to surprise him? Now? At the ball? After his final meeting?"

"Well surprising him in his bedroom would be a fun little callback." Mista grins before realizing just what he said and who he said it to. "Oh fuck, wait, I mean-"

"I will pretend to not have heard that." Jonathan himself is turning a faint shade of pink. "If you go down this hall to the right, Giorno's office is the third door on the left. His last meeting will be done in ten minutes." Jonathan nods and turns to leave. He takes two steps and then pauses. "His bedroom is the first. On the right. Good day Guido."

Mista waits for Jonathan to close the door behind him before he dissolves into a minor panic attack. He puts his head in his hands and tangles his fingers up in his hair (thank God it wasn't styled). _Why was everything he says so fucking stupid_? After a moment of thinking of everything that could go _wrong_ , Mista summons his courage, takes a deep breath, and leaves for the hall.

He pauses by the door Jonathan mentioned as Giornos and he can feel panic rising in his chest. What if Giorno's already inside? What if he's mad to see Mista? He may have been bleeding out in the apartment, but moments before Mista had confessed he kept a large part of his life secret from Giorno, who had been unfailingly honest with him. The hand he rested on the doorknob is trembling and he thinks _I don't think I can do this._

There is a noise down the hall as the door that, supposedly, leads to Giorno's office is opened and Mista removes his hand as fast as if the doorknob burned him. He has no choice but to retreat around the corner and listen as steps make their way down the hall, and Mista feels his heart hammer as he hears Giorno speak.

"We can talk about this tomorrow." He sounds tired, but Mista feels his pulse spike just hearing Giorno's voice. He clenches his hands at his side to halt the shaking. Whoever he is talking to doesn't seem to take the hint the conversation is over as they rattle on about something or other. Mista forces himself to breath, to clear his thoughts, to _fucking move and talk to Giorno_. But he can't make his body move.

"I don't like to repeat myself." Giorno finally interjects with an edge to his voice and Mista sees his window of opportunity closing. "I must prepare for the ball tonight. Good afternoon." He steps backs into his room, shuts the door with a click, and leaves Mista still hidden behind the corner.

This was not going to be easy

*/*/*

Mista takes a deep breath of the cool night air and sinks down at the base of a pilar. "Fuck." He hisses out before gently thudding his head against the marble.

After he chickened out, Mista returned to his room and tried to smother his frustration by yelling into a pillow. It did nothing and the servant who came into check on him was simply confused by the whole thing. Another servant joined and Mista found himself being dressed in a different suit than before (the deep blue would catch the prince's eye, the one dressing him said with a wink) as well as polished and coifed within an inch of his life. Any argument was immediately met with a "King Dio says-" and Mista would shut his mouth and let the madness carry on.

When they were done, Mista was directed to the ball already in full swing. The opulence of the room and the people made Mista feel uncomfortable and out of place. Only a few days ago he was chasing a rat out of his bathroom and now? He was wearing a suit that cost more than six months rent and was looking for _the prince_ who had somehow fallen for him.

If it was any more of a fairytale, animals would be frolicing amongst the guests.

Mista was in the process of figuring out where he could get some food when the music faded and a footman announced "The Royal Family has arrived!" leading everyone to turn and watch the three men descend the main staircase.

Dio descended aloof and proud in his golden suit, cape draped over his shoulders. His hand rested on a decorative sword and he looked as if it was a waste of his time to be there. Jonathan could not have been more different, beaming and waving at those in the crowd he noticed. His suit was a deep purple that complimented Dio's brightness, with medals adorning his broad chest, showing the service he had provided for his country.

It was Giorno, though, that stole Mista's breath. Everything about him was immaculate and perfect, from the curls of his blond hair to the shine of his black boots. His suit was white with what looked to be gold flowers stitched into the the lapels. Small gold accents, like the buttons and stripe running up his pants, flashed as they caught the light as he moved. Giorno looked perfect and Mista forgot how to breath.

So he runs. It's all too much for him in that instant and he throws out pardons and sorry's and he makes it outside as fast as he can. And now here he sits. Wishing for...what? A cold shower? A hole to swallow him where he sits? _Giorno_?

"I can't do this." Mista whispers. "I don't belong here. Why did I even come?"

"Hmf."

The sound of another person startles Mista into looking around, eyes landing on the man leaning over the edge of the balcony flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the stone. The man glances over as he takes a long drag. "Problems?"

"No, no problems whatsoever." Mista tries to make his voice sound happy, but he's not sure it works.

"Right. I believe that." No, it didn't work.

"Well are you having a problem? You're not inside either."

"Don't like balls." The man says before returning his gaze outward. There's a moment where the sound of music reaches them on the balcony before the man reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a box. "Smoke?"

"God yes." Mista pushes himself off the ground. He usually doesn't smoke or take things from strangers, but it was something to do to instead of dwell on his feelings. He makes his way to the railing and the man offers a light. After a shaky first inhale and a small coughing fit, Mista feels calm begin to set in with each passing moment.

"So who are you?"

The man huffs and leaves his cigarette (his second since Mista noticed him) in his mouth. "Jotaro. Jonathan's great-great grandson."

" _What_?"

"It's complicated."

Mista coughs again on the smoke. "You're royalty?"

"Distantly. I only came so my daughter can be here." Jotaro's voice softens slightly. "She loves to dance."

"She cute?"

"She's five."

"I'm sure she's very cute then."

More time passes and Mista snuffs out his cigarette. Jotaro has placed another one in his mouth, but has not lit it. They continue to stare out onto the darkened grounds.

"You're Mista, aren't you." Mista feels his heart race at Jotaro's words. "The one Giorno talks about?"

"A-and if I am?"

Jotaro offers a shrug in response. "You don't feel like you fit in, do you?"

Mista lets out a bark of laughter. "If you know my name, you probably know _who_ I am, as well and _what_ I did. This life...It's too much. This isn't who I am."

"So?" Jotaro pauses, coughs a little, then continues. "From what it seems is that you're the only one who cares so much about what people think."

"Well someone has to in this crazy country. I don't think anyone realizes how much of a fucked up person I am. _I kill people for a living_." Mista hisses out.

"A valuable skill. Especially at the side of a prince."

"Look, I haven't talked to Giorno in three months. Everyone keeps telling me that he missed me, but I never heard from him. He looks perfect tonight, but why bring me here? I just...I want answers. But what if the answers I get aren't what I want to hear? And what if they are? Could it really work?"

Jotaro turns and pulls the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "Don't know. Maybe you should ask him yourself." He gestures towards the door and Mista looks to where Giorno stands, looking like a vision in white and gold. Jotaro claps a hand on Mista's shoulder, almost dropping him between the force and the loss of feeling in his legs.

"Jotaro, it's good to see you." Giorno's voice is music to Mista's ears. The smile he offers the larger man is warm and genuine. "Jolyne is greatly enjoying herself. I believe I saw Padre taking her to the sweets table a moment ago."

"Filling her with sugar and then sending her back with me. How like Dio." Jotaro grumbles as he walks back into the ball, leaving Mista and Giorno alone.

Mista can not look at Giorno, not after all he said which, with Jotaro's well timed cough as reference, he suspects was most of his fears. He stares at the ground and waits.

"How long have you been here?"

Mista winces at the question. "I got in this morning."

"Why didn't you-where have you been?" Giorno takes a step forward and Mista wishes he could take a step back.

"I think it's the West Wing? Dio told me it's the guest quarters." Mista hears the click of another step forward.

"You're wrong, you know."

"Is it the East Wing? Directions aren't my strong point and-"

"You're not a fucked up person." Mista watched as Giornos boots enter his space. "Look at me." The order is clear as crystal and after a moment of hesitation, Mista lets his eyes travel up from the ground, over Giorno's body, and, finally, into his clear blue eyes.

"Giorno-"

"Guido." Giorno breaths out his name. Mista bring his hand from behind him and places it on Giorno's cheek. "I tried to contact you, but you had already left the apartment. I should have tried harder, but I was afraid...you might not want to see me after I almost got you killed."

Mista lets out a soft laugh. "I would think me willing to die for you was a rather clear indication how I felt."

"Felt?" Giorno whispers. Mista responds with a shrug.

"That was three months ago. Let me tell you how I feel now." He leans down and places a soft kiss on the crown of Giorno's head. "I thought of you every day since we last saw each other." A kiss on his right cheek. "I was scared, _am scared_ , that I can lose you again." A kiss on the left cheek as Giorno closes his eyes. "And, I don't belong here, but you're here, and, I'd like to think, I belong with you." Mista pauses a breath away from Giorno's lips. "If you'll still have me."

"If you don't kiss me right now Guido Mista, the only thing you'll have is an empty bed toni-" Giorno is unable to finish his threat as Mista fervently kisses him.

It's better than Mista remembers, holding Giorno in his arms as they kiss. When they pause to catch their breath Mista can't help but laugh. "Fuck, I missed you Giorno."

"How eloquent of you." Giorno says with a smirk.

"I used all my eloquence up on what I said before the kissing. It's all downhill from here." Mista leans down to kiss Giorno again, but the prince pulls away before he makes contact.

"I'm probably being missed from the ball." Giorno takes Mista's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Come back in with me?"

Mista freezes. "Are you sure? I mean, I have no idea how balls work."

"Usually there is food and dancing. Sometimes boring conversation, but with you there I'm sure I can get through it." There is a tug at Mista's hand as Giorno begins to walk forward. "I can introduce you to my fathers as well."

"Oh, I've met them both." A shudder runs through him as he remembers how badly both of the meetings went. In a flash he remembers something. "Wait. Your dad, the nice one, said you had my hat."

Mista watches as Giorno flushes pink. "Well, I just, wanted...well I thought that...I just..." The stammering is cute, Mista decides, a smile growing on his face.

"Pretty sure it was covered in my blood, last I remember." Mista winces at the thought of their last meeting, before pushing it away. That was the past now, and here they were again.

"Well I cleaned it." Giorno rolls his eyes, some composure returning. "I just...thought it would be a nice memory of you and your terrible fashion sense." There is a pause and Giorno is pulling Mista towards the doors off the balcony. "Meet my fathers again and I'll give it back."

"You're terrible." Mista mutters as he lets himself be led inside. Giorno turns and places a kiss in the palm of his hand with a soft smile.

"It'll be fine. I'm here."

Mista believes every word.

*/*/*

The sunlight falling fully into Mista's face makes his eyes twitch and screw further shut.

"I fucking hate mornings." He groans as he throws an arm over his eyes. "And the sun. Really hate the sun." The bed sinks under the weight of another person sitting down.

"I happen to think the sun is lovely. As well as important for all life on earth." Giorno kisses Mista's bare shoulder.

"Easy for you Prince _Golden Sun_ , you don't have to worry about the sun ruining your beauty sleep-"

"If you say it's because I'm already beautiful, I will smother you with a pillow." Mista is inclined to believe Giorno isn't lying and he swallows the rest of his words. Comfortable silence falls between the two of them and Mista can pick up the sounds of the palace waking up, as well as the smell of coffee that Giorno brought back to bed.

"I am inclined to like the sun though for one reason. And not the life giving property bullshit you said." Mista says as he moves to uncover an eye to look at Giorno. He may have been forbidden to say it out loud, but seeing Giorno with his hair undone and cascading down his back while wearing Mista's discarded dress shirt, Mista thinks he has never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

"And that is?" Giorno looks down at him while taking a sip of coffee.

"Well, if it wasn't sunny, and you weren't so goddamn loud, we never would have met."

There is a pause before Giorno leans over and kisses him softly on the lips. "That was terrible." He murmurs, but the smile on his face betrays his real feelings.

"I think it was great." Mista stretches and wraps his arms around Giorno's waist, closing his eyes once again. "You don't have anything to do today, do you?"

"Meetings and a dinner with some-"

"Stay." Mista says, his voice soft as he begins to drift back to sleep.

It's an order Giorno is happy to follow.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please come chat with me about JoJo over at my tumblr (musicaljinx) and stay tuned for more GioMis because like hell I'm gonna stop any time soon for these lovelies. Cheers!


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